The Mask and the Butterfly
by LynstHolin
Summary: AU Lily Evans/Lucius Malfoy   Lily Evans is a singer in the chorus of the Royal Opera. Who is this Angel of Music that sings and speaks to her? A Christmas present for one of my loyal readers.
1. Chapter 1

No warnings. This first chapter is a little short.

...

PROLOGUE

Two little girls, one blonde and one ginger, were tucked snugly into a trundle bed under a patchwork quilt. "Just one story, and then you must go to sleep," their father told them.

"The Angel of Music! Please, Papa!" the ginger girl said eagerly.

The blonde girl made a face. "I do not like that story."

"Petunia, you got to pick last night. Tonight, Lily gets the story that she wants." The gaunt, pale man sat on a bentwood rocker, pondering the story he was going to tell for a moment. "Every great musician and every great singer receives a visit from the Angel of Music once in his life. Sometimes, the Angel kisses a baby in its cradle. That is what happened to you, Lily. That is the reason why you could sing like a bird before you could talk."

"I wish I could see the Angel of Music," Lily sighed. Her sister's lips curled downward.

"No one ever sees the Angel of Music. He can only be heard. His voice is the most exquisite sound one could ever hear," Father said.

"He already visited you when you were a baby, Lily, so you won't get to ever hear him again," Petunia said sulkily.

"Now, now, Pet." Father put a hand on Lily's shoulder. "I vow, when I get to heaven, I will send the Angel of Music to visit you one more time. But you have to be good, remember?"

"Yes, Papa. I must never-" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I must never use magic."

"Because you will not get into Heaven if you do," said Petunia smugly.

"I will be good, Papa. I promise."

TEN YEARS LATER-1870, LONDON

It was a street of small brick rowhouses, where spinster daughters from good families fallen on hard times whiled away their years in genteel poverty. The houses were neat and well-kept; the residents would rather go without bread than look shabby. A girl with flame-colored hair could be seen through a window, singing the Rhinemaidens' song from 'Das Rheingold' as she stripped a bed. She didn't notice the golden butterflies that popped in and out of existence in her wake.

The young beauty was also unaware that she was being watched. A tall man with long, white-blond hair stood on the sidewalk, looking mesmerized. He appeared wealthy and exotic at the same time, with his black kid gloves, ebony walking stick, flowing cloak, and thick silver chain around his neck. His pointy-toed boots had more heel than was strictly fashionable for a man, and he had a diamond stud in one ear. On a street where maintaining respectablility was of the utmost importance, this pale peacock was very conspicuous.

A door opened, and a thin, horse-faced woman glared at the man. "I know what you are," she hissed. "They should have burned all of your kind back in the Middle Ages."

The man turned his gray eyes to the woman, a haughty look on his aristocratic face. "Actually, the burning took place during the Renaissance Era, and no true wizards or witches were burned. The victims were mostly the insane, the half-witted, and women who refused to hide the fact that they had minds of their own. Muggles all."

"Your sort is not welcome here." The woman slammed the door shut. A moment later, she was in the bedroom, confronting the ginger-haired girl. "You're making butterflies again, Lily! Stop it!"

"I don't mean to do it." Lily dropped the bed linens into a basket, and hefted the basket up onto one hip.

"That doesn't make it any better. I cannot believe you still plan on joining the opera chorus at Covent Garden. What if you start making butterflies in public?"

"I can control it better than that."

"You oughtn't do it. It isn't respectable, singing in the opera."

"The money Papa left us is running out. I cannot marry, lest I pass on my condition, and there aren't any suitors beating down the door for you, so at least one of us must earn an income. Now, get out of the doorway so that I may do the laundry."

"_You_ are doing the laundry? Do you even know how?"

"We cannot afford a laundress any more, so I will have to learn."

The man was still on the sidewalk, listening to the sisters squabble. He had been sent by Tom Riddle.


	2. Chapter 2

MALFOY MANOR, WILTSHIRE

After supper, the men withdrew into the billiards room, leaving the women to their domestic gossip. Tom Riddle accepted the cigar Abraxas Malfoy gave him and arranged his elegant figure on a chocolate brown leather couch next to Lucius. He ignored the longing looks he was getting from Regulus Black; a man that extraordinarily handsome was accustomed to being pined over. "I take it you still cannot interest your elder son in the cause, Orion," Riddle said.

Orion Black shook his head. "Sirius is far too involved with gambling and dens of vice to spare the time to halp save the wizarding race."

"A pity. What did you discover, Lucius?" Riddle asked.

Lucius exhaled cigar smoke. "The girl is most definitely a witch, but she appears to be untrained. Her sister is not a witch, but she knew that I was a wizard. She seems to hold magical people in low esteem. She thought that I should be burned at the stake."

"I know a few jealous husbands who think the same," Peter Pettigrew snickered.

"It wouldn't be the first time a squib was bitter," Orion.

"Why are you so fascinated by this girl, Riddle?" Regulus asked petulantly, earning a dirty look from his father.

"Knowledge is power, my boy. Do you not find it curious that there is no mention of her in the records of the Ministry or of Hogwarts? I do enjoy solving a mystery. And if she turns out to be a Pureblood, a beauty like her would make someone an excellent bride."

"I was using an _Auris Amplifica_ charm, and was able to hear a conversation between the sisters. Something was said about Lily Evans having a condition that she did not want to pass down to any children," Lucius said.

Tom Riddle shrugged. "Muggles suffer from many things that can be cured by Healers. What did her neighbors have to say?"

"They were mostly middle-aged women of the sort that cling most ferociously to respectability. If I had tried to speak to any of them, there would have been a to-do. My mere presence frightened them. I daresay they thought I was out to ravish them."

"Or hoping," said Peter Pettigrew.

Riddle gave the rat-like man an impatient look. "Did I not give you a task?"

"Yes, yes. Sneak around Buckingham Palace. I will get to it."

"Now, please." Riddle watched Pettigrew enter the fireplace and disappear into green flames. "One can never trust a spy. Especially one that is literally a rat. Now, Lucius, do you think it is possible for you to find out more about the girl without doing anything that will put the Ministry's nose out of joint? You know how that nest of pusillanimous lackeys bends to the wishes of the harridan Victoria. As if any Muggle ruler should have authority over the superior race," he sneered.

"I believe I have a lead."

"Good. Now, you all remember the plan for the evening? Crabbe, Goyle, I do not want you two fouling things up again. Keep them on the straight and narrow, Nott and Lestrange."

The group of men, all twelve of them, filed out of the Manor. Once through the front gate, they all Apparated away. Lucius popped into a small shed that was completely boarded shut. A wave of his wand made a silver substance run over his face like quicksilver; it solidified into a skull-like mask that covered the upper half of his face. He pulled the hood of his cloak up and secured it to hide his long, pale blond hair and Apparated again.

Now he was on a London street corner with eleven other men wearing masks and hooded black cloaks. They marched toward a handsome three-story stone mansion. The double front doors were thrown open, and a steady stream of carriages pulled into the semi-circular driveway, disgorging people in formal wear. Some wore dress robes, some wore trousers and tailcoats, and there were women in jewel-toned ballgowns.

At the head of the group of hooded figures stood a tall man in a mask with a reptilian cast. He raised his wand and sent a ball of flames at the nearest carriage. Screams, both human and equine, rent the air. Panicked horses took off with the flaming carriage skidding wildly behind them. "The Knights of Walpurgis are here!" someone cried. As the masked men marched toward the front doors, panicked people fled, some into the street, others into the mansion.

Too late, some guests tried to shut the doors. A wave of the wand from the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis made them fly back open so hard, they shattered. The Knights entered the mansion, the cadence of their footsteps echoing through the hallway. "Why are you doing this?" a woman sobbed as she cowered under a side-table.

A fiftyish man stood before them, wand pointed threateningly. "How dare you interrupt such a joyous occasion?"

The lead Knight's voice came out unnaturally loud and distorted. "_Joyous_? You celebrate the engagement of your Pureblood daughter to a _mudblood_. You are celebrating the pollution of our race."

The older man tried to throw a hex, but it bounced back, knocking him down. The Knights stepped over him into the ballroom. The remaining guests shrieked, huddling in corners and behind furniture. One poor soul tried to hide under a cello. The Knights used their wands to blast the large crystal punch bowl, spraying sharp shards and red liquid everywhere. The chandelier exploded next. Chairs were reduced to slivers. Paintings flew off the walls, splintering in the middle of the dance floor. "If this misbegotten engagement continues, be assured, we will attend the wedding, and it will not just be mere objects that are harmed," the leader of the Knights said in his amplified voice as the masked men marched out of the amnsion. In the drive-way, the sinister group stopped. Their leader raised his wand to the heavens. "_Morsmordre!_"

LONDON

Lucius sat at a dining table in a restaurant with a bosomy, dark-haired woman. Waiters delivered a light mid-day meal and a couple of bottles of wine, then pulled a curtain around the booth for privacy. "Must you always bring me here?" the woman said, pouting her red-painted lips.

Lucius drew off his gloves, revealing perfectly manicured hands. "You are my mistress, Leonore. This is the sort of place one takes one's mistress. I could hardly take you to a gentlemen's club. Please, be pleasant. I only have an hour to be with you."

Leonore simpered and stroked Lucius' arm through his shirt sleeve. "I apologize, Lucy."

"Do not call me that, I beg of you. How is it going with the Opera? Have you any prospects of moving out of the chorus yet?"

Leonore scoffed. "Not unless that cow Emily pops her clogs." Her accent had suddenly become more coarse.

Lucius looked faintly amused. "Your background shows when something makes you angry. I've heard that there's a new girl in the chorus, a ginger. Has she any talent?"

Leonore gave Lucius a beady-eyed stare. "If your thinkin' o' takin' a new mistress, forget 'er. Thinks she's the bleedin' Virgin Mary," she said shrilly.

Lucius curled his upper lip. "Ugh. Enough of that. If I wanted to hear that manner of speech, I would spend time down at the docks with sailors. Leonore, I ask only as a lover of music. Does she have a great voice, or merely a good one."

"A great one," Leonore said grudgingly, her upper-class mode of speaking back, "But she's barmy. She keeps talking about how her deceased father is going to send an Angel of Music to her."

"Angel of Music?"

"Yes. She says that no one has ever seen him, but he has the loveliest voice imaginable."

Lucius put a hand to his mouth as he thought. Then he reached into a pocket. Leonore's violet eyes widened when she saw the black velvet jeweler's box. The diamond earrings were enough to make her forget that she was annoyed with her 'sponsor' for bringing up another woman. She giggled as she undid the ribbon that held Lucius' hair back.


End file.
